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“Why are you crying?”
A sad girl with long dark hair and brown eyes looked up at the tall boy staring at her. A thin pane of glass separated the two of them.
The girl was in a painting on the wall of Hogwarts castle. A painting of another time, another world… but like all magical paintings at Hogwarts, the girl in the portrait could see, hear, and talk to the boy.
"I... don't want to be here anymore," the sad girl answered him with a whisper, pressing her palm against the glass.
He looked back at the sad girl in the painting, studying her carefully. His eyes narrowed. "Here in this corridor?”
"No," she sighed, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I can see into your world, but I'm stuck here in this one."
Her fingers traced circles against the glass.
This piqued his curiosity. He got closer to the glass, the height difference between the two being evident. He studied the girl further, his mouth twitching slightly.
"And how much of my world can you see?”
"Only the view from which they hang my painting," she said quietly. "I see students coming up and down the corridor going about their days. Some kind ones wave hello. Sometimes the house elves chat with me while cleaning the picture frames." The girl looked out at him as tears shimmered in her eyes. "I've been moved before. I used to hang in the grand stairwell and saw much more. But I'm here now, in this quiet corridor."
"And how long have you been in the painting?" His voice had a sharp edge to it now. His curiosity was replaced by a certain kind of anger, a feeling he couldn't explain. "Who put you here? Tell me.”
Her eyes turned to confusion as she tilted her head.
"I've always been here. This is my world. It's separate from yours."
She suddenly turned to glance at something to the side, out of sight due to the picture frame. Then, her eyes flickered back to the boy on the other side of the glass.
His dark gaze flashed as he examined the portrait of the sad girl, as if looking for jinxes and tricks around its edges. It was his understanding that magical paintings could leave their frames whenever they wished and visit other pictures. The other portraits did it often. That's how gossip traveled around the school so quickly.
“Why can't you simply go find another frame to sit in?” he asked.
"I just... can't.” The sigh that left her lips sounded so defeated. “My world doesn't have magic like yours does. To you, I look like a painting, but there's a whole world in here. Just like there's a whole world you're in on the other side of this glass..."
She pressed her hand to the cold surface once more.
Curiosity won over his cautiousness, and he decided to indulge this sad picture for a moment.
"You describe a whole different world inside this picture frame. Is it a world like this one, with students and classes and all that? I'm intrigued by the mysteries of this new world you're describing."
He stepped closer to her frame, folding his hands behind his back.
"We have schools and children just like that world does, but not any magical ones. But I am not in a school right now. I'm in my home." The girl glanced around the room she was sitting in. The wallpaper looked old and in disrepair. She was sitting on a worn blue sofa. "I look like a painting to you, but you're more like a window I'm looking through."
"And your home is a part of this world inside the portrait?" He raised a brow, a slow smile grew on his face. "Then, tell me about your family. I would love to know, I'm very interested in this mystery of yours."
Even though he was smiling, he had a calculating glint in his eyes.
"My... family?" Her eyes filled with tears again. "They live very far from me."
The girl moved closer to sit at the edge of the window, tracing her fingers around the glass' edge as she had done time and time again, as if looking for a way to open it. But it was impossible.
His curiosity turned into something else. He wondered what lay behind those tears. The pain there.
"Oh? You miss them, do you?" He asked, his voice was softer, as if feeling a strange kind of empathy towards the girl, even though missing family wasn't a feeling he was capable of imagining.
"Yes and no," she murmured. "It's hard here without them. Sometimes, I miss things about them. But they don't believe that these other worlds are real. They call me silly for wasting my time dreaming about a better place than this. But I see you. I hear you. I know you're real."
The girl's tear-soaked lashes fluttered up as she tilted her head to look at him again. "I don't want to be in this world anymore.”
"I see." He replied softly, a small hint of sympathy in his tone. She looked so lonely. He couldn't help wondering what her life was like. He leaned against the glass and his expression softened. "And do you believe my world is real then?”
A hint of a smile lifted her lips for the briefest moment. Their fingertips met with the glass between them.
"Yes," she said simply. "Others in my world believe it too."
His thumb brushed the glass where her cheek was, and he stared intently at her. Something inside of him was telling him to not do this, but he ignored it. He studied her face and his gaze roamed over to her neck, his gaze lingering there for a moment. She was so vulnerable and alone.
"You do know that I can't take you to my world, don't you?”
The girl simply watched as his fingers traced the glass where her face was pressed against it. He seemed so close, but all she felt was the cold, unforgiving barrier.
"Nobody on your side has ever tried," she said. "But you have magic. I don't."
"And if I do try, could you trust me?" he asked curiously, his voice had an edge to it.
Something inside him told him that trying this would be a huge mistake. But he didn't care anymore.
A sudden angry shouting from the girl's world made her jump in fright. She jerked back from the glass, and her worried eyes looked away from the boy.
"I have to go," she said quickly.
The girl looked at him one last time with desperation hiding in her sorrowful eyes. Then she left, leaving only a picture of an empty room behind.
At first, his body tensed as he instinctively tried to reach for her hand, but the glass stopped him.
An odd sense of loneliness and emptiness welled up inside him. Feelings he hadn't let himself feel in a long time. Even he wasn’t immune from being affected by her emotions, and now he wanted to comfort her.
A dark anger suddenly surged in his chest, and he began pounding his fist against the picture.
The glass was unforgiving and emotionless as it vibrated under his fists. Not a single crack.
It was unclear if the girl or anyone else in her world, for that matter, could hear his angry pounding, but there was no response to his fists on the glass.
The room sat empty.
He finally stopped, and slowly slid down the wall until he collapsed to the ground with his back to the portrait. He felt utterly helpless at the moment, a certain powerlessness that he had never felt in his life.
The girl's face, her eyes as she begged him to take her into this magical place… it was an image that was burned into his mind.
That girl just turned his whole world upside down.
What felt like minutes was actually hours as he sat with his back against the glass, pondering the mystery of the girl in the painting. The sun had long set, leaving the castle corridor bathed in darkness, with only the faint flickering of torch light.
The room in the painting remained unchanged. Until...
"...you're still here," a soft voice whispered from the glass behind him.
He froze as he heard her voice again. He turned slowly to look at the girl on the other side of the glass.
‘She looks… different. Is this a trick?’
He studied her face and her movements, his face remained cold and unreadable as he waited for her to make another sound.
The girl was certainly the same, but she looked older. Her hair was more frazzled than before. Her clothes were changed and looked loose and worn. Her eyes were raw and red, and her cheeks stained with tears. She looked thinner and in need of sleep.
She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand as she sat down next to the glass.
"I'm surprised you're still here. Aren't prefects like you usually quite busy?" She glanced at the prefect badge pinned to the boy's green robes.
"I have a few hours in between my duties," he said simply. His expression did not change as he looked at her face. "And what has it been, a few hours, since I last saw you?" His eyes darted around the room in the painting, looking for any other signs of change.
She softly smiled through the pain on her face.
"Time works differently here, I'm afraid," was all she said in response.
Her tired, brown eyes drifted past him to glance around the dark corridor.
"I've always thought the castle was so lovely at night," she said with a dreamy sigh, pressing her forehead against the glass. "It's so peaceful.”
He watched her as she stared wistfully at him.
It was true, this castle was beautiful, although he often couldn't see it that way anymore.
He cleared his throat, and his voice was softer as he spoke again. "Yes, it's quite peaceful during the night.”
She hummed quietly. Then, her eyes darted back down to his.
"You should probably be in bed. You have classes tomorrow."
"Indeed I do," he replied simply, his eyes never leaving hers. "Isn't it past your bedtime as well? I don't think your teachers will take kindly to you being up this late.”
A soft laugh parted her lips, but her eyes remained tired.
"It's quite flattering that you think I'm still young enough to be a student," she murmured, her smile slowly fading. "I find myself unable to sleep most nights lately.”
He was quiet for a moment as she confirmed the aging he had observed. It looked like she had aged years in only a few hours.
“And why does sleep elude you?” he finally asked.
"Can't really say, to be honest," she sighed. "I'm certainly tired enough to. But there are more and more stresses building in my mind each day. I would gladly welcome the silence of sleep."
The girl's fingers wandered along the edges of the glass again.
"What kind of stresses might these be?" He was becoming increasingly curious as to what this mysterious girl's circumstances were. His expression remained soft, as if he genuinely wanted to know.
The girl was quiet as she thought over her words. Finally she spoke again.
"Suffice it to say that the only thoughts of mine that spark joy anymore, are when I dream of this place... this magic castle behind the glass."
She smiled at him again, but it was the saddest look he had ever seen.
“And you think my world can provide you with the happiness you so desire?” He sounded skeptical as his eyebrow raised.
The girl nodded with a faraway look in her eyes. “At the very least it would be a chance to start over.”
At first, he wanted to tease her, to play on others’ emotions as he had done so many times before. But something stopped him.
There was a certain innocence about this girl, an innocence that he was beginning to admire, as strange as it felt to him.
"I… see," he replied slowly, and his expression was soft. Maybe, he had met his match, someone who saw through his mask. "What is your name?”
"I haven't decided yet," she said wistfully, drifting her fingers down the glass. "For your world, I mean. I don't want to bring my name from here with me if I ever get to leave." Her eyes shifted back to his. "What's yours?”
He was surprised that she would abandon even her own identity to be in his world. But her honesty was catching, it made him feel strange.
He wanted to tell her the truth, but he knew he wouldn't. Not fully at least.
"Call me Riddle.”
"Riddle..." She tilted her head with a curious little smile. "And I thought I was the one being mysterious," she said with a quiet laugh. "I like riddles, though."
The girl relaxed in her usual spot, curled up against the glass, with her legs tucked under her.
"I suppose for now... you can call me, Whimsy. It's a name I've used before.”
‘Whimsy... I like that name. It suits her,’ he thought.
His eyes never left her as she spoke, they were stuck on her face. He liked her kindness, he liked the way she spoke, and he found her… refreshing.
"And why Whimsy?" he asked gently.
His hand rose and slowly reached over towards the glass, his fingers hovered above her hand before lightly touching where her fingertips pressed.
She let her fingers drift against the glass, following the pattern of his.
"Because my head is always in the clouds," she whispered. "Why are you a riddle?"
His eyes darted to the side, as he thought through his answer. He had been asked that question many times, and there was always a different answer.
But not this time, he felt a certain urge to be honest with her.
"Because no one sees me for who I truly am."
A silence filled the air after he spoke.
"It sounds like you just haven't met anyone clever enough to solve it," she said softly.
Her head leaned against the cool glass, sighing as the chill calmed the red, raw skin of her tear-stained face.
His lips curved into a small smile, and his voice was amused at her quick wit.
"Are you a very clever girl?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
Their eyes locked for a moment, but the girl's gaze faltered away.
"Sometimes," she said quietly. "Not nearly clever enough to be of much use, though."
His heart felt a certain pang at the sight of her shyness. Her modesty was both fascinating, and alluring. He suddenly realized he had been staring at her for some time, and quickly pulled his eyes away.
"And... can I ask what you have been crying about?" he asked, his voice was gentle as he looked at her again.
Her gaze refused to lift from the bottom of the frame she was studying so earnestly.
"Nothing to concern yourself with," she whispered.
"But, I am concerned." he replied almost too quickly, his voice was soft as he tilted his head. "You are clearly upset about something, and I… I don't like seeing you upset.”
"Why?" she asked, her eyes suddenly flashed up to lock with his. Her head tilted curiously. "Day in and day out, students have passed by me sitting here. Some say hello, and others just rush on to class. Not one of them has asked why I cry. Until you did." Her brown eyes sharpened as she looked this Slytherin boy up and down. "Why does it bother you?"
There was something so appealing about her sudden switch to intensity. Her unwavering stare sent a thrill down his spine. Something about it was calling to him, as strange as that sounded.
His breath hitched slightly as he held onto her gaze.
"Because I feel like I can relate." his eyes shifted down for a moment, and then back to hers. "My life isn't something I'm exactly proud of. And I've felt that emptiness and loneliness myself.”
She considered his words for a moment. Then she slumped against the glass again, almost as if she'd given up on something.
"You're young. You've not even finished your studies. Your life has barely even begun to be considered something you're not proud of," she murmured dismissively.
Then her head turned, and her sad eyes watered as they met him again. "Loneliness can be felt even in the most crowded room."
He found it hard to argue with her logic.
Those eyes of hers, shimmering with a constant well of tears… he couldn't fathom how she was still keeping them at bay. Somehow, he felt like she was able to see through the mask he wore. And he wanted to see through hers.
"Do you mind if I ask a personal question?”
"Are there really any questions that aren't personal?" she pointed out. Her eyes softened with a tired sigh, and she simply rested her head against the glass. "What's your question?"
She was too sharp for her own good, but for the moment he was glad she was.
"Very true." he agreed, a small smile forming on his face. And then he simply jumped straight into it. "You say that you would willingly leave this world for my world? Why?" The words were pointed and blunt.
"I just..." Her brow furrowed as she tried to put it into words. "I feel like I don't belong here."
The girl's hand raised up to press her palm flat against the glass, trying desperately to touch the magic world beyond it.
"In this life... all I manage to do is failure after failure. Failures that are so difficult to try and recover from. It's exhausting day in and day out. I'm tired of surviving. I want to live ."
His heart broke a little bit as he listened to her words. She reminded him of himself... and he hated that feeling.
He stared at her, and for the first time, he was unsure if he should comfort her or leave her be.
Finally, he opened his mouth, and spoke. “That is a feeling I can relate to.”
Her eyes raised again to meet his, a new sadness in them. But it wasn't for herself this time.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. Her hand drifted down to rest where he touched the glass. It was the closest she could get to holding his hand. "I don't wish for anybody else to understand what this feels like."
He let his palm rest against the glass, wishing with all his heart he could be more than just a mere figure to her outside a window.
‘She is so gentle... so compassionate. I wish this wasn't so cruel.’
His heart clenched, and his eyes darted back down to hers.
"I wish you could be happy..." was all he could manage to say as his voice quivered.
Her lips softly curled in a tiny smile, in spite of the unshed tears shimmering in her eyes.
"Looking through the glass makes me feel happy. I also feel longing and melancholy for myself when I do, but that's quite selfish of me. I feel happy when I imagine being in your world. Even if I was there and still couldn't do magic. Just... knowing magic exists would give me hope again."
She looked down at her rough, cracked hands. "Hope left me a long time ago…”
He stared down at her cracked hands with a frown at the cuts and bruises there. A spark of fury flashed in his chest that he struggled to control.
"That's not selfish," he murmured darkly. "That's merely a wish."
He took a deep breath and tilted his head, wondering if she would mind if he said it. "I have a wish for you.”
"A wish for me ?" She looked up at him curiously, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "How uncharacteristic of a Slytherin."
"Is it?" he smiled in return, a small flicker of mischief back in his eyes.
"Let me tell you my wish then..." his voice was hushed, so no one would overhear admitting such soft thoughts aloud. "I wish that one day, you may be freed from this cruel world behind the glass, so that you could live out your dreams in this magical world. You deserve a moment to be able to live out your dreams, like the rest of us do.”
The girl's eyes softened, and her forehead pressed against the glass again. Her fingers gripped at it until they eventually balled into a fist, and a single tear escaped down her cheek.
"...you would wish such a thing for a stranger like me?" She shook her head. "It would be wiser to save your wishes for yourself. Wishes are precious in a world with real magic.”
His heart clenched at the sight of her tears. It was so cruel that she could never be happy. Crueler than any fleeting thought he'd ever had. For a moment, he wondered again if this was not the glass of a portrait, but of a mirror showing the misery of one's own soul.
"You are not a stranger to me." he murmured, his eyes gazing at her, his fingers still resting on the glass. "You are a friend, one who understands me," his voice was soft as he spoke. "And my wishes are precious, but they are meant for you and you alone. So don't cry, Whimsy.”
His offer of a friendship she'd always longed for made the tears flow freely now. She cried, curled up against the glass.
This boy... so young and bright. He had his whole life ahead of him still. His own ambitions and goals and dreams. He hadn't wasted them yet.
She looked as if she were about to speak again, but the sudden grating sound of an alarm of some sort made her weary shoulders drop. She sighed and wiped her face, raising her achy bones.
His body tensed at the sound of the alarm, looking around the painting to see where it was coming from, but there was nothing other than that faded blue sofa. He looked back at her, eyes softening with concern as she wiped her face.
"What is the alarm for, Whimsy?" His voice was gentle, but held back a rising panic.
"I have to go," she whispered simply. "And so do you."
She pointed at the window behind him where the first rays of sunlight were starting to peek through.
Without another word, the girl turned and walked out of sight, leaving the picture frame empty once more.
He stared at the now empty space where she once was, a feeling of loneliness already enveloping him.
"Whimsy..." he murmured as he turned to look over his shoulder and out the window.
He saw a little twinkle in the darkness. The sun was just peeking up through the trees. He looked back to the empty frame, and a tiny glimmer of sunlight was refracting off the glass in a way it hadn't been before.
His brow furrowed as he studied the strange twist of light, and then his eyes widened.
There, where his fist had pounded before... was a crack.